Sex and Violence
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Len has started noticing changes in Barry. He's becoming colder, angrier. Len thinks he knows why, and he thinks he knows how to help. All he needs to do is get Barry to agree to his unconventional methods … Coldflash. Barry Allen, Leonard Snart


**Warnings for angst, depression, brief mention of blood, sexual content, and bottom Len.**

 **Written for the coldflashweek2016 prompt 'Dark Barry'.**

"You look like you could use some company."

Barry scoffs. Of all the lines in the world, Len decided to go with _that_ one. It's not even original. Barely worthy of either man.

It's a cool evening in the middle of March. A stiff breeze bounces off Barry's Flash suit, doesn't make it to his skin. That's one of the things he likes about his suit. It's mostly impenetrable. Very little gets through. Heat, cold, it's all regulated to provide him with the optimum comfort in extreme situations.

Physically, it's doing the job. It allows him to be miserable in peace, with no other concerns.

Until now.

Barry doesn't need this right now.

He's been sitting on this curb, staring off into nothing, for about twenty minutes.

It feels like much longer.

But not long enough to be saddled with Leonard Snart handing him a line.

Barry keeps his eyes straight ahead on a puddle of oil slicking the asphalt, mentally calculating the speed he'd need to hit in order to skid across its surface if he stood roughly three inches tall. Not until he's arrived at an estimate does he give Snart a response.

"Even if I _did_ need company, which I _don't_ , why would I need _you_ of all people?"

"Oh, I don't know." Len sits on the curb beside Barry. The heel of his right foot splashes in the puddle, and just like that, he becomes Barry's main focus.

And it pisses Barry off.

"Because the paradigm of our classic superhero-villain dynamic dictates that every so often we come together in hours of need to lend each other a hand?"

Barry rolls his eyes. "There's a lot of ten dollar words in that sentence there, Snart. Did you do really well on your SAT's, or are you fronting to make up for the fact that you failed spectacularly?"

Len smirks. "You'll never know."

Barry drops his head back, staring at the sky so he doesn't have to look at Len. "Whatever. Back to the original question, why would I need you?"

Len shrugs, the rustling of his parka keeping Barry aware of him. But even without it, Leonard Snart is a difficult man to ignore. "Maybe because I know what day today is, even if your so-called _friends_ don't remember?"

Barry frowns at that remark. Barry rarely takes anything Len says at face value. Everything that comes out of his mouth tends to have a hidden meaning. But the one nail he hit head on is that Barry's friends did seem to overlook what day today was. Not a one of them mentioned it, and not in that _I'm purposefully avoiding an uncomfortable subject_ sort of way. His friends are mostly scientists and cops; they aren't good actors. He'd be able to tell if they remembered but were sidestepping.

They had honestly forgotten, the same way they did last year. Not that Barry should rely on them to remember. He himself has tried his hardest to forget.

But in order for Len to know any of this, he'd have to have done some research into Barry's past.

And he'd had to have been following Barry around today.

But Barry isn't about to let on that Len might be right. "It's Thursday. I can read a calendar, too. Your point?"

"My point is," Len continues, his tone shifting slightly, "I know what it's like to lose a mom."

Barry blows out a breath, watches it lift into the cold air while he debates the merits of confirming versus denying. Snart could be grasping at straws, but considering that his intel probably comes (somehow) from the CCPD, there's no use lying.

"So what? So we have something horrible in common. We're both motherless sons. You're still not answering the question of what I could need from you … besides the satisfaction of locking you up, which is what I probably _should_ be doing right now."

"But you're not going to," Len says, "because that's not going to get the pain out of your system."

Barry looks at Len, looks him straight in his crystal blue eyes, and begins to understand. "What are you saying? I mean, what exactly is it that you're offering, because I've only got one idea and I want to see if it sounds as ludicrous out loud as it does in my head."

"Come on, Barry," Len says, bumping him with his shoulder. "You and me, we've got some _awesome_ tension. It builds up more and more every time we fight together. Don't you think it's time to let some of that loose?"

"Uh, no. You're out of your mind, do you know that?" Barry stands from the curb, half-past done with this conversation.

"Tell me you haven't thought about it?" Len asks, following before Barry can take off without hearing him out. "The way you're always grabbing my coat and pinning me up against walls. I bet you like it _rough_ , huh?"

Barry tugs at his gloves, flexing his fingers, deciding between straight up leaving without another word, or punching Len in the face. He opts for a previously entertained third choice. "You know what? I'm done listening to this. I was right the first time. Taking you down to prison is the best thing for me right now."

"Come on, Flash. It'll only be the one fuck. No one has to know."

" _I'd_ know. And I have to live with me for the rest of my life. So if I ever want to be able to look at my reflection in the mirror again, I choose prison for you." Barry cracks his knuckles. "And if you don't want to come quietly, then I think I'm okay with violence. Just this once. Since you've always been so _kind_ to me and my team."

"It doesn't have to go down like that, Barry," Len says smoothly, confident that even if Barry declines his offer, there's no way he's getting Len down to the precinct. "And besides, sex _is_ violence. It'll be the same as us fighting, except we get to have a much better orgasm after."

"Do you mean? Are you saying that after we …?" Barry's upper lip curls in disgust. "Are you always this vile? Or do you reserve it for me?"

"Pretty much always. But to tell you the truth, you're the only adversary of mine I've ever wanted to have sex with." Len stops. He rolls his eyes to the sky. "Well, wait … there was that time …"

"You know what? Prison it is."

"I don't think so." Len pulls out his gun and aims it at Barry. "We're going to do this one way or the other. We're going to fight, or we're going to fuck. Either way, I think it'll snap you out of your funk."

"Why do you even care?"

Len shrugs. "Don't know. Don't think I do, really. I'm pretty sure I'm just bored. So, what's it gonna be, Flash?"

"I'm going to have to choose fight," Barry says, taking a step forward. "Sorry."

Len takes a step back and powers up his gun. "You'd really rather fight me?" he asks, walking backwards in a circle as Barry pursues.

"Yup."

"I'm insulted."

"You should be."

"What could it hurt, Flash? Huh? It just might make you feel good. How long has it been? When's the last time anything made you feel good? Good enough to forget yourself? Good enough to _forgive_ yourself?"

Len stops walking before Barry does, which puts the barrel of his gun pointing dead center over the lightning bolt emblem on Barry's chest. But Barry doesn't seem to notice the gun. It doesn't seem to concern him at all. The way he stares at Len, eyes sparking with electricity, he's almost daring Len to shoot him.

Or he's thinking over Len's offer.

Barry and Len are polar opposites. They have nothing in common but this. Len knows how Barry feels. After losing his mother and spending years blaming himself for her death, nothing made Len happy anymore, but everything made him angry. He had no patience for anyone, no sympathy. In order to find a way to raise his sister without becoming his dad, he settled on a middle ground.

He became numb.

But in becoming numb, he lost his conscience. He stole what he wanted when he wanted; he killed without discretion. He infected his sister with his _live fast, die hard_ attitude. He bounced in and out of prison, effectively destroying the stability he'd worked so hard to create for her, but even that couldn't convince him to change.

He started regaining his conscience after he met Barry.

More specifically, when Barry and his team saved his sister's life.

Len hasn't completely reformed as a result of that act, nor will he probably ever. He's been in the void far too long to leave without a stain. But he can't watch Barry lose his conscience. He can't repay Barry by letting Barry become remorseless like he was.

"Will it shut you up?" Barry asks in a dry, emotionless voice.

"That depends - are you talking about before, during, or after?"

"You don't tell _anyone_. Do you understand?" Barry growls. "Make a peep, and I'll put you somewhere where no one will find you."

"Are you threatening to kill me, Flash?" Len chuckles. "Because that's a little dark, and frankly, out of character for you."

"I won't kill you. But I'll find a timeline where you'll wish you were dead and stick you in it."

"What are we talking about?" Len challenges. "A Hunger Games type dystopia? Evil world dictatorship? Flaming riots in the streets? Because, I'll tell ya, that all sounds like a _fun_ Saturday night for me."

"No," Barry says, his face and voice grave. "The Pax Initiative Timeline."

Len's nose scrunches. "What the heck's that? That sounds like an episode of Star Trek."

"Earth 3047. One unified socialist government. No fossil fuels, no poverty, no pollution, no weapons, no crime, no alcohol, no pornography …"

"Stop, stop, stop," Len says, stowing his weapon beneath his parka faster than he pulled it out. "You win, you win. I won't tell a soul. You have my word, I swear. Just … can it with the Candyland talk."

"Fine." Barry scans the surrounding neighborhood for a suitable place to get this over with. He spots the tree line of a wooded area and motions towards it. "There."

Confused, Len looks over his shoulder and grimaces. "Oh, Barry." He tsks. "Out in the woods? Where's the romance in that?"

"I didn't think that romance needed to be a part of the package."

"Well, maybe not, but not getting twigs in my ass crack is. Or having bugs take up residence in my …"

"I got it," Barry says, squeezing his eyes shut, hating himself already. "I don't need that image."

"Have you ever even had sex?" Len teases. "Because I've gotta tell ya, you're bad at this."

"Excuse me if I don't make it a habit of screwing wanted men," Barry spits.

"Well, I do," Len says, smug, "so let me give you some pointers on how it's done - why don't we move this party to someplace with a _bed_?"

"Not my place," Barry says.

"Not mine either. I don't know _how_ I'd explain this to Mick, let alone Lisa."

"You're not going to," Barry reminds him. "You're not telling _anyone_ , even if you kill them right after. You never speak of it."

"Right," Len says, not letting on how disturbing those words sound coming out of Barry's mouth. "Well, hows about we cut the difference and hit up a hotel? There's one on ninth that charges by the hour. I'll even foot the bill."

Barry raises an eyebrow, but with his mask on, Len can't see. "You will?"

"Yeah. Well …" Len reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a leather wallet. He opens it, slides out the first card visible – a gold AMEX, and tilts it towards the light to read the name on the front "… _Harvey Lester_ will."

Barry huffs. He reaches for the card, but Len is quick to squirrel it away.

"What'll it be, Flash?"

Len watches Barry weigh one final time the pros and cons of a one-night stand against dragging Len to jail and spending the rest of the night alone. From the way he's balling his fists, Len is sure the arrow on Barry's moral compass is pointing towards the latter, even if it goes by way of knocking Len on his ass … until Barry says, "Fine."

A blinding burst of crimson lightning flashes, its crackle in Len's ears tremendous, like a runaway express train. It only lasts a second, but in that second, it encases him, surrounds him. It even moves through him. It's a rush, the way the lightning carries him along, the prickle of it against his skin, and then the force that slams into him when he comes to a sudden stop.

This is the third time Barry's transported him like this. Len doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

"Jesus fucking … warn a guy, will ya!?" He blinks his eyes and stretches his jaw, stemming a wave of motion sickness.

"Sure." Barry suddenly sounds deep down, bone-and-muscle exhausted. "Whatever."

Len turns a full circle in the room he's standing in. "Uh … this _isn't_ a hotel," he points out, examining the tidbits and trinkets that scream _home_ – pictures on the walls, odds and ends on the various flat surfaces, flowers in a vase on the kitchen table, mail on the counter, etc. etc. He doesn't need to be a thief to read the signs.

"No, it's not. I wasn't going to make _Mr. Lester_ pay for this mistake you've talked me into."

"So, you broke into someone's _house_?" Len laughs out loud. "Well, well, well. I underestimated you, Barry. I can't tell you how _hot_ that makes me."

"No, I took you to _my_ place. I wouldn't put it past you to know where I live already anyway. What's the point in keeping it a secret?"

"Whoa," Len says with genuine surprise. "You must _really_ have it bad if …"

"Are we going to fuck, or are you just going to make sarcastic remarks all night?" Barry snaps, approaching Len with a firm threat simmering behind his eyes. "Because if you want to jabber, you can do that at Iron Heights. You'd probably make some good friends there, too … handsome man like you …"

Barry steps close, not completely in Len's personal space, but near enough to yank him back out the door in a blink.

"Probably. But my arrangement's with _you_. I'm just waiting for you to make the first move, _Flash_. So do it. Make a move." Len provokes Barry on purpose to get the ball rolling. He just has to be careful he doesn't go overboard, or that move could be Barry shoving him in a cell for the night, and not in Iron Heights. One of those isolation chamber deals they have underground at S.T.A.R. Labs. Len knows that they're for meta-humans, but after the stunts he's pulled, he's always suspected that they have one down there with his name on it.

Barry lifts his hands slowly, cautiously, like Len's a bomb he's going to have to diffuse. He reaches out to touch him, then drops his arms stiffly back at his sides. He seems jittery, on edge, at odds with himself.

He looks like he's about to change his mind.

"You know, if this is too difficult for you," Len jabs, "then I …"

"Snart!" Barry growls, harsh and loud, as if he's calling Len out from across a crowded room. Barry grabs Len by the back of the head, curling fingers into his scalp that would tangle in hair if Len had any. Barry drags him forward, crashes their faces together, raking Len's lips with his teeth before he's able to slide their mouths into something that resembles a kiss … if kisses were meant to make you bleed.

There's no tongue involved, so Len doesn't get the chance to taste him, but when Barry lets go and takes a step away, he leaves Len breathless.

"Man," Len pants, smile on his face that's two parts triumph, two parts horny devil, "you seriously have an issue with me finishing a sentence."

"Is you finishing a sentence even a possibility? Do you ever _shut up_?" Barry presses his hands to his face as if he can't believe he just did that. Can't believe he kissed Leonard Snart.

Can't believe he didn't hate it, or himself for doing it.

"No." Len licks blood off his bottom lip, narrowing Barry's attention to his lips, his tongue, his mouth. "So, do you wanna be kinky and keep the mask on or …?"

Barry tears the hood and mask off his head, and goes in for another kiss. Nothing about Barry's kisses are sensual. Every one bites and bruises, is full of anger, hate, cold indifference, and electricity. Barry tears at Len's clothes with a strength that surprises Snart regardless of how many fists to the face he's taken from The Flash.

But Len's touches, in comparison, aren't detached or clinical. They're not steeped in vengeance, don't attempt to dominate. He seems to be slowing Barry down, savoring the moment.

He seems to want this on another level, and to an inexplicable degree.

"How's it gonna go, Barry?" Len mutters into his mouth. "Am I doin' you? Or are you doin' me?"

"You said I needed your company," Barry says. "So, I'm doing you."

Len smiles. "Fine by me. Now about that bed …"

Barry doesn't warn Len when he's about to move him. He simply picks him up and relocates him.

Simple for _Barry_ , who is made to travel at Mach 10,000 and barely gives using his speed a second thought anymore, even for the most menial of tasks. But it sends Len's head and stomach spinning when they zip into Barry's bedroom, his organs compressing and then popping back so that he now (unfortunately) knows how it feels to have his lungs re-inflate without his taking a breath; his heart beat backwards (it makes sense when it happens, not when he re-visits the sensation in his head); his vision go black, then gradually return from the center outward after he and Barry are both completely undressed, their clothes laid out on the floor behind them like the trail left by a hurricane.

Len can't immediately locate his gun, but he'll worry about that later.

"Shit! Well, that's … impressive," Len remarks, looking Barry up and down at the muscular chest and legs that have been hiding beneath his suit, the athletic body that doesn't quite match his boyish face and goofy charm. Neither does the incredible erection he's sporting. Jesus Christ! Why didn't Len come up with this plan sooner? "You don't waste time with foreplay, do ya?"

"If we're not here for romance, we're not here for seduction, either." Barry grabs Len's arm and whips him around to face the bed. "Weren't you the one who said sex is violence? That this could be like fighting for us?"

"I did," Len says.

"Do you believe that?"

"I do."

"Then you won't mind it much if I do this …" Barry pushes Len onto the bed, kneeing the backs of his thighs to get him to open his legs.

"Not at all," Len groans, kneeling obediently and not fighting back.

"Or this …" Barry licks his middle finger from base knuckle to tip and shoves it unceremoniously in Len's ass.

Len pulls at the blankets till the seams rip, growls in pain through clenched teeth, but he doesn't resist. " _Mmpf_ … nope. In fact, I _prefer_ it."

Barry climbs onto the mattress with Len. "Or this …" Len has no idea what could be coming next, but he braces, prepping mentally for what could be another finger added dry, or Barry's entire fist. For nails down his back, or teeth in his skin.

Or, if Barry is more sadistic than Len pegged him for, a knee to the groin.

But careful kisses across his shoulders, gathering at the base of his neck to trail down his spine – _that_ he didn't anticipate. They stop the breath in Len's throat, made his head spin and his stomach swoop more than Barry's lightning fast travel. He drops his head to his arm as Barry opens him up, adding another finger (slicked with lube that he got from his dresser in a microsecond without Len even feeling him withdraw).

"Barry?" Len moans at the erotic vibrating of Barry's fingers. "What are you doing?"

"Shut up, Snart," Barry says softly. "I'm doing _you_ , remember? So, let me."

"As you wish, Scarlet." Len yields, relaxing beneath the sway of strong fingers scissoring him open. Barry doesn't talk to Len (Len figures) so that Len won't talk back, but Len is dying to know what Barry's thinking – beyond his melancholy, and beyond this physical act that they're taking part in. What goes through Barry's mind when he touches Len, knowing who he is, knowing what he's done … and what the two of them are about to do? Maybe Barry is trying to forget that this is Snart at all. Maybe he has someone else in mind. Len's suddenly not sure if he's cool with that, though he's in no position to object.

After the spot Barry just hit, massaging gently with humming fingertips, each pulsation going straight to his cock, Len is lucky that he remembers his own name.

"Okay," Barry mumbles to himself. "Just … one second …" There's more flashing, more zipping of Barry around the room, looking under his pillow, in his dresser drawers, then his bathroom as he locates a condom, which he apparently finds in the kitchen, of all places. He has it rolled on and the head of his cock breaching Len's entrance before Len can say Barry's name again.

"Barry?"

"Yeah?"

Len peeks over his shoulder at a man who looks younger than he should underneath his mask, and not his Flash mask. The one he wears every day. The one that hides the many facets of who Barry Allen is, what he's endured in the short time since that particle accelerator blew.

"Don't feel like you have to take things slow on my account."

"Don't worry," Barry says, unconcerned. "I won't."

But Barry does start out slow, with long, deliberate thrusts that hit hard at the end, a half-second before their bodies become flush, then back off twice as slowly to register the tight drag as he leaves Len's body. He runs his hands down Len's back, raking his fingertips into Len's skin, leaving behind ghost-white trails but no lasting marks. This act that he wanted so badly to be done with before they even started, he draws out, stopping when the heat building in his stomach goes from simmer to boil, cooling himself off by layering kisses on Len's back.

Barry barely makes a sound as he fucks Len, but Len can't stop rambling.

"God, Barry," Len moans, arching his back as Barry moves inside him, begging for more kisses, more touch, more of whatever Barry wants to give him. "I take it back. You're not bad at this at all. You're fucking fantastic! You can do this to me all day, every day."

"We're not making this a thing, _Captain Cold_ ," Barry bites, adding venom by using Len's pseudonym.

"How can you say that with your dick up my ass? How are you not enjoying yourself?"

"I'm not …" Barry has an insult at the ready, but he comes up short. He can't tear Len down. Not in the middle of this. Barry had decided he wanted this on his own. He has no one else to blame. Even if Leonard Snart _is_ Satan incarnate, he wasn't _that_ persuasive. Every time he opened his mouth was a strike against him. Barry wanted to see what this was like, fucking a villain, giving in to a dark portion of his soul that had been growing larger every time he watched someone he loved die. And since Len was offering himself up as some sort of sacrificial lamb, it seemed like a perfect opportunity. Barry thought he might even get the chance to exact some revenge. If anyone deserved it, Snart definitely did. But once he got the man naked, once he saw him vulnerable, and how _not_ vulnerable he was, Barry's want jumped to need. Not a sexual need. Barry didn't need a fuck. He needed Len's strength. He needed a bit of what made Len so ruthless so that he could get through tonight, and when next year came … he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. "I-I don't … _mmm_ … I don't need …"

"Yes, you do, Barry," Len says, keeping still so that Barry can find a comfortable flow, a rhythm that suits him. "Just let go."

The sympathetic tone in Len's voice enrages Barry. It's instantaneous, like a trigger. It switches gears in his head, extinguishes the fire in his belly by dropping a stone in his gut. Barry plants the heel of his palm in the back of Len's neck and shoves down, plasters his face into the mattress, but he buries his teeth into his own bottom lip.

If he's going to do this, fuck Len till he cums, he's not going to let himself enjoy it one hundred percent.

Because Barry _is_ enjoying it. He hates to admit that it's doing the trick. Even if it's not sealing up the wound, it's making him forget who he is, abandon himself to the basic sense of touch and eliminate the things that conspire to keep him buried in the past – his powers, his responsibility … his mom.

But Len was wrong about one thing – this feels nothing like fighting. Even when Barry speeds up, slams harder, digs his nails in, he can't take pleasure from trying to hurt Leonard Snart.

Not when having sex with him feels this _amazing_.

Len complies with Barry's silent decree of head down, ass up. But not content to be just a hole in the mattress, he reaches behind and grabs Barry's leg, pulls him closer, writhes on the sheets and tells Barry over and over how good he feels, to keep going, harder, faster, until Len's guttural chants become higher, breathier, like begging, weaker, helpless …

Len helpless, at Barry's mercy, pleading for Barry to put him out of his misery, breaks through Barry's anxiety. It frees his mind, gives him permission to be human. Not The Flash.

Not even Barry Allen.

"God, Barry … just keep … keep going … just … Scarlet …" And for the first time in over an hour – for the first time since Barry's _met_ him – Leonard Snart goes quiet. Barry feels Len shudder, and that shudder, from muscles tensing tight, brought to the brink of ecstasy by Barry, of all people, echoes through Barry at a higher velocity than his own Speed Force. The nails digging into Len's skin become palms caressing his hips. Green-hazel eyes glowing with sparks of red flutter closed as Barry carries them both, with a snap of his hips, to the apex of this moment. Then he does what Len told him to do.

He lets go.

Climaxing inside Len's body isn't simple release; it's catharsis like none he's ever experienced.

For Len, selfishly it was everything he imagined it would be and more from a one-night stand with The Flash. It was hot. It was powerful. It was the ultimate carnal rush.

But in that far corner of his heart that can still feel regret, he may have enjoyed it a little too much. He may even feel bad for strong-arming Barry into it, even if he honestly felt it was for the kid's own good.

Barry lets himself hover, staring at the body beneath him, kneeling before him, bowed low like an offering. It's easy enough to forget who he's with, but in predictable Leonard Snart fashion, the man has to open his mouth and speak.

"So, Barry Allen … was it as good for you as it was for me?"

Barry swallows hard. As soon as he can, he releases Len's hips and retreats from his body. Barry is in shock, his euphoric high plummeting at astronomical speeds when reality decides to slap him in the face with some truth that he overlooked.

In a moment of weakness, of depression, of self-destruction, he brought a villain, his own nemesis, back to his house, his sanctuary, and had sex with him.

What does Barry do with that?

He sits on the edge of his bed, much like he did on the curb, and tries to process it, while Len stretches out like an overindulged cat.

"Jesus Christ," Len groans. "We've gotta do that more often. Don't you agree?" Barry stays silent, staring into his adversary's content face, those cool eyes with so much intelligence behind softening; cheeks lifted by a snarky grin, relaxing. "So …" Len brings up a hand to card through Barry's hair, a touch of pure comfort that seems to startle them both, "how do you feel? Did that help at all?"

Barry searches for an easy answer, but there isn't one. "I … I don't know," he says. "No?" He drops his head into his hands, grabs handfuls of his hair and holds tight. "I was right. This was a mistake. Now I owe you two, right?"

"Don't sweat it, kid." Len sits up, slides closer. "We'll call it a draw."

Barry shakes his head. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being nice to me?"

"I prefer the term companionable. And it's like I said," Len explains, but Barry stops him before he gets much further.

"Yeah. My mom. Your mom. I know, but …" Barry clamps his mouth shut. There's nothing more to say really. What does Barry think's going to happen now? This doesn't change anything.

He's about to get up, brush this off and head to the bathroom, wash it away and put it behind him, but Len grabs him by the shoulders before he can.

"Come on, Scarlet." He curls Barry into his side, pillowing his head on his shoulder. "You're not leaving. Not yet."

Barry surrenders to what remains of their temporary truce, and the security that it brings him here in Len's arms. He takes a deep breath, a pause before the storm …

… and then tears start to fall.

Len sighs. He wasn't prepared for this, not really, but he's not surprised. He's held Lisa while she cried a hundred times.

And Barry deserves to cry over his mom. Barry's luckier than Len. Len still hasn't been able to cry. He knows that no amount of tears will ever bring her back, but it makes him feel like a monster.

"It's alright, Barry," Len whispers, dropping kisses into Barry's hair. "You just go ahead and cry. It'll make you feel better, kid. I promise."


End file.
